


Heat Wave

by battle_cat



Series: Together [50]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Come Eating, F/M, Frottage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 05:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7301185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you wanna fuck but it's too bloody hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat Wave

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this smutty art by YoukaiYume](http://youkaiyume.tumblr.com/post/146442463573/filthy-smut-warning-a-prompt-i-drew-for-a-smut).

It’s ungodly hot.

It’s not like the Wasteland is unaccustomed to heat. But this weather has even the hardiest scavenger retreating to whatever shade they can find: the sun an unrelenting sledgehammer during the day, the nights that are usually the desert’s mercy breezeless and suffocating instead, no relief in sight.

“Maybe it’s the end of the world,” Cheedo muses over dinner, wiping her brow while baby Angharad (not so much a baby, nearly a thousand days old now) steals chunks of roasted tuber off her plate.

The world has ended so many times already. One more doesn’t seem like something anyone could prevent.

They do their best, at the Citadel. Making sure the Wretched (the Groundlings, they’ve started calling themselves) have adequate water and enough shade structures. Reducing work to only what’s absolutely necessary, and doing as much of it as possible in the early morning or by moonlight. Reminding the little ones to stay out of the sun and convincing them to nap as much as possible.

Sleeping outside provides only the barest relief, but it doesn’t take long for everyone in the Citadel to figure out it’s marginally better than the sweltering stone chambers.

The green gets crowded.

When a sleep-muddled War Boy accidentally rolls over onto a bed of fragile bean shoots, Dag curses and stomps and then institutes a rotation system. One outdoor sleep every three nights for each healthy adult in the Citadel.

Tonight is not one of their nights.

Her room has a window, but it’s still stifling inside. By unspoken agreement they both get naked as soon as the door is bolted.

She wets the washing cloth in the water pitcher and wipes him down, holding the cool cloth against his throat and forehead, dribbling a little water into his hair, which he lets trickle down his face with an appreciative hum.

She leans close and licks a drip off his temple, feels his amused huff of breath against her neck. Then the wet press of his lips and tongue under her ear. His mouth trails down her neck, and, well, sensory distraction is as good a mechanism for coping with the heat as any.

And if sleeping in the garden has a single disadvantage, it’s that it’s currently too crowded to have sex without being overheard.

He takes the cloth from her and dips it back in the water. Runs it over her body in slow, cool strokes punctuated with lazy kisses. The rough fabric slides wetly over her breasts and he pauses to flick at a nipple. She sighs into his mouth.

He keeps going, stroking over her back, her stomach, her ass. When the cloth dips between her legs he cups his hand around her mound and gives her the slightest squeeze, fingers curling against wetness. She moans.

His kisses are still teasing, pulling away just when she wants more. She backs him up against the wall so she can keep him still for her tongue to push hungrily into his mouth. Going after what she wants means pressing their damp bodies together, feeling sweat build up instantly in the friction points between them. His cock is awake now and she likes the feeling of it sliding between her legs, likes the little moan he makes between sucking bruises into her neck, but in no time at all they’re both dripping with sweat again.

She peels her body away from his, pants out a huff of frustration. “Here’s the problem,” she mutters.

“Mm?”

“I would really like you to fuck me. But it’s so smegging hot I barely want you to _touch_ me.”

“Mm.” He still has the washcloth in his hand, and he drapes it around her neck, using it to tug her close so her forehead is resting against his. A trickle of sweat runs down her temple. “Think we can work with that,” he says.

He takes her hand and urges her over to the bed.

She’d never bothered with anything other than a mattress on the floor (the only place she’d ever slept in a bed with a frame before was in the Vault), but they’d figured out that lifting the mattress onto a makeshift frame of metal and leather straps let marginally cooler air flow underneath.

The added height _does_ open up all kinds of new sex possibilities. It’s just been too oppressively hot to try any of them out.

Now she lets him guide her down to lie on her back. She enjoys the little flush in his cheeks, the one that has nothing to do with the temperature, when she lounges back on her elbows with her legs spread, knees bent so he gets the best possible view. He balances on the edge of the bed, half kneeling and half sitting, and hooks her calf over his thigh.

There’s sweat on her neck and under her breasts and on her back sticking to the sheet and in the creases between her thighs and her pussy. He still has the washcloth, and he wipes some of it away before he tosses it on the bed and wraps his hands around the tops of her thighs to tug her closer.

She’s already quite wet, but his fingers trail through her labia, stroking along her sensitive inner folds, brushing over her clit without staying long enough to do anything but tease. Her back arches as she drifts, letting the slow-building waves of pleasure rock her hips against his hand. She catches his other hand stroking his hard cock before her eyes drift closed.

Then she feels the hot press of his cock along the length of her cunt, not pushing inside but just sliding through slick folds. A hand under her knee nudges a leg further up, back, opening her a little wider, and then the head of his cock rubs sudden and firm against her clit, sending out crackling sparks under her skin. A surprised _ohh!_ escapes her lips.

She opens her eyes to see Max looking down at her with a hazy smile on his face. He grinds against her clit again and she gasps out, “Ohh—yes—do that.”

She reaches out a hand to get his cock where she wants it, and he guides her into place, thumb smearing the precum leaking everywhere, fingers around the ridge just under the head of his cock, the same part of his anatomy that’s now rubbing shudder-inducing friction against her clit. “Unnh—yes—” she grunts, hips rocking in fast, twitchy thrusts, her bottom lip ground between her teeth as everything narrows down to the pleasure building and building inside her, her clit and his cock and her hand and his wrapped on top of it. She manages to keep her eyes open until the wave breaks, and then she has to arch back against the bed, eyes squeezed shut and muscles twitching and shivering as she moans.

She feels his other hand clench sudden and tight on her calf, and then there’s a low grunt and ribbons of hot come are squirting across her belly. She opens her eyes a crack to catch the last moment of his open mouth and clenching stomach muscles as his cock twitches itself empty against her.

She’s still recovering when he stretches his bent knee out with a wince and collapses on his side next to her. She turns her head on the pillow bonelessly toward him.

He’s still catching his breath, mouth open. Sweat glistens in his chest hair. She brushes his cheek with a little hum of satisfaction.

“Made a mess,” he mutters, glancing down at her sticky torso. An enterprising splatter had made it all the way up to land between her breasts.

“That we did.” She still feels buzzy and loose with pleasure, and somehow finds she cares a lot less about the various fluids painting her skin.

He reaches for the rag he tossed on the bed, moving to clean her up. She shakes her head sleepily. “Lost a lotta salt today,” she slurs, smearing a finger into the white mess on her stomach. “Don’t waste it.”

“Mm.” He nods, shifting a little closer to her. “Good point.” He leans over and licks the come from between her breasts, the slides down to lap at her stomach.

She catches his gaze as she slides her sticky fingers into her mouth and licks them clean. It is very, very salty. She must remind him to drink more water.


End file.
